Chapter 42
Chapter 42
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 42
Chapter Title: Giant's Island
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Giant's Island.
From the plants to the wildlife.
Everything on this island was outrageously massive.
A single group had gathered there.
"So, what's the next destination?"
Beside that group.
A spearman who had planted his man-tall spear into the ground spoke up.
He carried himself with the attitude that climbing the Tower had grated on him from start to finish.
His eyebrows had been furrowed the entire day because of it.
He wanted out of the Tower as soon as possible.
His face brimmed with that sentiment.
"Always so impatient. Someone's tracking us, remember? We agreed to hold tight and wait it out. Rushing won't make anything happen faster."
Someone else spoke up, visibly exasperated by the spearman's prickliness.
Bandages wrapped his neck, burn scars peeking through as if itching fiercely.
He scratched at them vigorously with his fingers.
The spearman knew it was a tic that surfaced whenever the man got irritated.
Nicknamed Burnscar.
A fellow member of the Whisperers—and for now, a comrade.
'Sigh. As if you don't wanna rush too.'
The guy was always like that.
Pretending to chide gently with his words.
While his body spewed emotions wildly.
"It's fine, Granny. Take your time! Möbius is handling things solo anyway, right?"
"Shut it, brat. Both of you, quit yapping in my ear. You think mutating the key is child's play?"
The wrinkled old woman with the eyepatch snapped in irritation.
She'd been deep in concentration, but these two were too damn noisy.
"Why bother with all that hassle? Just wipe out every Calamity."
"Eh, that's more trouble. Dealing with the families sounds like a headache."
Burnscar scratched his scars even harder.
Nails shredded the wound, drawing beads of blood.
He paid it no mind.
That was the moment.
Burnscar and the spearman both snapped their heads up.
Toward the island's outer edge.
They'd sensed something heading their way.
"Spearman."
Burnscar rose from his seat.
"Something's coming."
"The key thieves sent pursuers after us."
The spearman hefted his massive spear.
"I'll take care of it."
"If you're volunteering, be my guest."
Burnscar leaned back against a giant leaf, utterly indifferent as long as it didn't fall to him.
"Don't get taken down."
"No way I'd lose to strugglers fumbling around the Tower's 6th Hierarchy."
The spearman had unshakable faith in his own power.
The spear dwarfed any man, yet he slung it effortlessly over his shoulder and trudged down the mountain.
True to Giant's Island, colossal plants stretched on endlessly.
It left one feeling like a mere ant.
Descending the mountain, the spearman spotted figures in the distance.
Their ship anchored far out at sea.
They'd crossed via magic.
Swiftly navigating the base of the cliff—they were people the spearman recognized.
Their bodies bore the emblem of a bear and claws.
Bearleizin.
Knights from the family renowned for two-handed axes.
And the very ones who'd lost the island key to his group not long ago.
'This is why killing them all is cleaner.'
Apostles of the Whisperer.
The six venomous serpents.
Möbius among them—who scaled the Tower to claim the new seventh spot—prioritized swiftness above all.
He dodged needless scraps, which birthed chasers like these.
"Not even a proper warmup."
Spear on his back, he planted a foot at the cliff's edge.
Then leaped.
Boom!
The instant he dropped dozens of meters, the ground quaked like an earthquake.
His spear weighed a ton.
"Whoa!? What the hell—"
"Orison, it's him!"
The Bearleizin spotted the spearman late.
True to their two-handed axe lineage, they yanked out their axes on instinct.
"Cough up the key now. Might let you keep your head."
Their savage killing intent rolled off them, but the spearman just shrugged it off.
"You seriously tailed us with this crew?"
He'd hoped for more.
Disappointingly, these were it.
Snatched the key without breaking a sweat.
Hadn't they clocked something off by then?
"Thief's awfully chatty."
Pity—they were morons.
Couldn't even suspect a thief strolling up casual-like.
"Good enough."
That instant.
Crack!
The cliff behind the spearman cleaved halfway and crumbled down.
"Trap!"
The Bearleizin panicked at the sight.
As they whirled toward the sea to bolt.
Zzzing!
From the frontrunner's extended foot, his body rent apart.
Entrails and blood sprayed wide as torsos parted from legs.
In a blink, a dozen men wiped out.
"Tch."
The spearman spat, mood soured needlessly.
He turned to head back.
Until someone blocked his path.
A man emerging from the seaward side, a woman slung piggyback.
His presence felt eerily faint.
He dumped her roughly.
"Urk."
Not braced for it, the woman tumbled across the ground.
As she grimaced, rubbing her rear.
The man fixed the spearman with a steady gaze.
"Whisperer."
The word slipped from his lips, and the spearman's face locked up.
"You?"
The spearman's arms tensed with a creak.
On the trek here.
Granny had blabbed about the Whisperer a few times.
Her dementia fits made her spout off randomly.
Someone could've overheard.
But this man was different.
He nailed the Whisperer dead-on.
As if he knew of Him.
"Who the fuck are you? Buddy of these bear clowns?"
The spearman's red eyes flared wide.
The man nodded, conviction settling in.
"Got a question."
But the spearman moved to swing before words could flow.
Knew of the Whisperer?
Enemy, full stop.
That instant.
Before the spearman's eyes.
A fist whipped in already.
He jerked his neck aside in time, only to eat a kick.
Tumbling spear and all, he smashed into the ruined cliff.
Havel cracked his neck with a pop.
"Asked a question, so answer it. Don't lead with your hands."
What a brat.
"Elasia."
"Y-yes!"
"Locate the rest."
These guys ran in a crew.
More had to be lurking.
Elasia prepped her tracking spell without a peep.
Boom!
Then—a massive Calamity lumbered in, drawn by the racket.
"Screee?"
Island-worthy: a mantis towering so high you craned your neck.
It lunged at Havel like fresh meat.
Havel countered with hand held blade-like.
Riiiip! Ching!
Mantis halved—the gale from Havel's hand blade clashed fiercely.
"Filthy bug."
Through the splitting behemoth.
The spearman hauled up from the rubble.
Biting his cheek bloody, he spat it out.
Then regripped the mantis-rending spear.
Havel squinted.
Rare to see someone eat his strike and keep trucking.
"Guess he got some kind of offer."
Then the spearman spun his spear wild.
Its sheer bulk and heft whipped a storm of cliff shards and sand.
"Know your lane."
Spear swept down—the gale-storm hurtled in.
Aura-laced thrust-slash.
Before the area-denying strike.
Havel parried once more with hand blade.
Shockwave split the sea, baring the seabed.
But spearman's onslaught pressed relentless.
Spear danced in ceaseless arcs.
Havel met it mute, hand blade flashing.
The spearman's face slowly stiffened.
His slashes ravaged the environs, sure.
Few in 6th Hierarchy could weather them.
But even among those scarce elites.
None blocked so clean, untouched.
Havel's face? Blank.
Bored, even.
Flicker of interest at first.
Now? Level sussed, enthusiasm tanked.
Feeling probed like a lab rat, spearman bulged his eyes.
'This vibe.'
He'd felt it before.
Clashing with the Whisperer's six serpents' captain.
Presence paper-thin, near gone.
Collision hitting an insane bulwark.
'No friggin' way.'
This guy captain-tier?
'Captains are transcendents.'
Equal to that?
Spearman reeled.
Senses screamed crisis.
'Bolt.'
Grab Burnscar, Granny—bounce now.
Moment he clocked it.
"Run?"
Havel spoke.
Hand blade lowered, appraisal complete.
"Not letting you."
Saw him through cold.
Dawning that, spearman gulped deep air.
Aura erupted body-wide.
Whoosh!
Aura shifted blue thunder qi, surging skyward.
Blast crushed the air around.
Graineindrew Thunder Spear Art
Thunderclap
Thunder's roar boomed as the spear-thrust shredded atmosphere.
Rushing thunder grazed Havel—
Detonated, spraying thunder qi every which way.
Spearman wheeled and bolted, no pause.
Thud!
His body launched airborne abrupt.
Crash!
Late realization: tripped.
Head jerked up—Havel posed, foot outstretched.
"Thunder qi? Donated some fresh not long ago. That do it?"
Spearman lunged to rise.
"Gack!"
Havel's foot pinned his back swifter.
"Said it upfront. No running."
"Grrgh."
Mountain crushing him?
Spearman pinned immobile.
Crisis welled from gut, brain hammered.
Danger.
True danger.
That instant.
Fwoom!
Black flames surged, torching Havel's torso.
Black blaze so vicious, his face vanished in inferno.
"Blue lightning afar drew me—what a sight, Spearman."
Appearing neck-scratch casual: Burnscar.
But spotting him, spearman bellowed eyes bugged.
"Burnscar—run, now!"
"Huh?"
Burnscar scowled, like utter bullshit.
Laughter leaked from the black flames.
Spearman felt his body whoosh airborne.
Straight at Burnscar.
Burnscar hurled black flames sans mercy.
'Lame trick.'
He clocked Havel tailing behind.
Hand rose to reburn.
"Eh."
Bandage-gaps: eyes ballooned.
Havel? Gone.
"Told ya—listen to your buddy."
Voice rained from overhead.
Burnscar twisted late.
Fist already caved his skull.
Strike flashed vision—blackout.
Havel booted the crumpling fool aside, wheeled about.
There: spearman, black flame burns fresh.
Crawling frantic to flee.
"Oi."
Havel snatched the dropped spear, flung.
Boom!
It barricaded spearman's flight path.
His free-swing toy now ironclad blockade.
"Talk nice when asked. Or this punk spills."
Not talking? End scripted.
Burnscar's mess.
Spearman staggered turn, tone polite.
"......What you wanna know."
Hear query first—reply won't doom late.